wanting
by puertoricanjane
Summary: She feels she'll never stop wanting, not where Juri is concerned.


Shiori lingers after fencing practice, long after the rest of the club members have shuffled out. Fear has a stranglehold on her heart but Shiori musters up an ounce of a bravery and a smile, manages to not wince at her call of "Juri-san!" despite how annoyingly high pitched it sounds to her ears.

Juri turns and between the light slanting through the window and the sweat slicking her skin she almost seems to have an unearthly glow. And there's that old resentment again, the one she is trying desperately not to succumb to this time around, but it's so hard to escape the mantra of perfect Juri, beautiful Juri that always accompanies the other's presence. She's hopelessly aware of how she looks by comparison. That unlike Juri, whose hair manages to remain perfectly curled even when damp with sweat, Shiori's hair is a frizzy mess. That her skin isn't glowing but is unattractively flushed.

Shiori tries to swallow her inferiority down, to ignore the ever nagging voice telling her she isn't good enough, won't ever be good enough, that she's plain, nobody Shiori and why would Juri want a thing to do with someone like her?

Juri inclines her head, as effortlessly regal as ever. "Shiori," she says, and Shiori has to wrench her eyes away from the graceful arch of Juri's neck. "Did you need something?"

There's nothing there and Shiori's left feeling foolish; doesn't quite know what she was expecting. That maybe she would hear some remnants in Juri's voice of a deeper level of feeling? This is Juri, of all people. And besides, she's lucky enough that Juri is willing to speak to her with the same stilted politeness she would anyone else after all she's done.

It still hurts, though. For all that it's no less than she deserves, it hurts to be looked at and spoken to like a stranger, like she never meant anything to Juri at all.

She wants things to be different. She wants to matter again. She wants the slow curve of Juri's smile, the flash of teeth when she's pleased with something, the way she throws her head back when she's laughing, truly laughing, not the chuckles she usually ends up smothering behind a hand.

She feels she'll never stop wanting, not where Juri is concerned.

Shiori fumbles for excuses, casts about for something to say, something that won't result in Juri turning her back on her. Her eye is drawn to the foil Juri's still holding loosely and words leap clumsily off Shiori's tongue.

"My stances!" She flushes, feeling woefully pathetic in the face of Juri's raised eyebrow, and has to violently stamp down on the thought of _Juri is never so clumsy with her words_. "I…I'm trying my hardest but I've been having trouble with a lot of them. And I was hoping…that is, if you're not busy…if you could go over them with me?"

Her smile trembles but somehow, miraculously, does not fade, not even under the weight of Juri's impassive gaze.

Juri breaks eye contact and Shiori watches as she reaches a hand up to her neck. It's an absent-minded gesture, one she's seen Juri do a handful of times, but there's no locket anymore for her to brush her fingers against and Juri jerks her hand down after a moment as if realizing this. And oh, how Shiori wondered where it had gone off to, how she still wonders, because of everything that locket glimmering in the hollow of Juri's throat has come to represent over the years, but right now all she can think is that that's quite possibly the clumsiest thing she's ever seen Juri do.

She can scarcely believe it when Juri actually nods.

Juri doesn't coddle her, doesn't say much to her beyond the way of instruction, but Shiori refuses to be dissuaded. And as they run through the stances she finds that she's not just doing this for Juri; that she's doing this for herself too. Juri was always the great athlete, not her. Shiori never believed herself capable of it, always opting out of gym class whenever possible. But it feels surprisingly good to push her body like this and when she manages to execute the maneuver she's been struggling with for weeks perfectly Shiori feels a personal satisfaction the likes of which she's never felt before.

"All thanks to my great teacher," she tells Juri, beaming. She's so flushed with pride that she forgets herself, that they're not what they once were, that this might be the most that she's ever going to get.

And she doesn't even have time to feel foolish because Juri's mouth curls up, just a little, the first smile she's given Shiori in she can't even remember how long.

"You're not a half bad student."

Shiori's short of breath all over again.


End file.
